She extended the bowl and he immediately went forward, taking the thing in his metal hand. If she wanted him to hold it for her, he would. This close, he could smell the sea wafting off her skin, even despite the grime, fear, and pain that he could also smell lingering on her skin. He thought he may have gotten the better portion of the deal.
His eyes lingered on her berry-wet lips, before traveling up to the place where she'd been struck. Her skin was bruising. Without thought, he used the fingers of his broken hand to push away some of the strands of hair from her temple. Her head must hurt her quite a bit as well. He felt useless, powerless, and his eyes darkened with the clear evidence of his failure to her.
"I am sorry that I could not stop him," he said, realizing where he must have been when she was taken. He had been sitting on the couch in her apartment, inert. Lost in memory. Blank.